


I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in

by Elisexyz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Both Jemma and Grant are ex-Hydra agents, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Is it fluff?, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-06 21:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: Alright. Deep breaths, Jemma, deep breaths.“Surprise?” Grant offers, with the closest thing to a shrug that he can manage with a bloody baby in his arms. And by that she meansliterallybloody, because he’s bleeding all over it.“Tell me you didn’t steal that baby,” she pleads, unsure if she’s supposed to laugh or cry.





	I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tumblr prompt: [19\. “This is a whole new level of moronic, even for you.” + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/181930243879/sarcastic-prompt-n-19-for-biospec). Title from [here](https://genius.com/Lady-gaga-and-bradley-cooper-shallow-lyrics).

_Alright. Deep breaths, Jemma, deep breaths_.

“Surprise?” Grant offers, with the closest thing to a shrug that he can manage with a bloody baby in his arms. And by that she means _literally_ bloody, because he’s bleeding all over it.

“Tell me you didn’t steal that baby,” she pleads, unsure if she’s supposed to laugh or cry. At least the baby isn’t crying, that’s something.

“What? No, of course I didn’t _steal_ her,” he protests, and it’s laughable that he’s acting like that’s outside of the realm of possibility.

“Well, you didn’t have that when you left, I’m assuming you didn’t _make_ it, otherwise this relationship has a whole lot of issues to work—”

“Jem,” he interrupts, rolling his eyes fondly.

She crosses her arms, her eyes automatically darting to the baby every five seconds. God, what was he _thinking_ — “This is a whole new level of moronic, even for you,” she informs him. “What exactly do you want to do with her?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t think that far ahead,” he protests. She supposes that she should offer to take the baby from him, so that he can get cleaned up, but the thought makes her horribly uncomfortable. She’s never spent any time around babies, and she wouldn’t even know where to start. “Look, her parents are dead— and no, it wasn’t me— the whole place was about to blow up, I couldn’t just leave her there.”

That makes her soften, if only slightly.

“I get that,” she says, gently. “But your next stop should have been an _hospital_ , so that they can contact CPS—”

“Yeah, have you taken a look at me? I think I need a shower first,” he points out.

And yes, he doesn’t look presentable. Upon closer inspection, Jemma can conclude that a big portion of the blood on him belongs to someone else, and he’s standing upright with no sign of obvious injury, so he probably made a good call when he ran straight back to the safehouse.

Still, the sight of that _baby_ makes her horribly nervous.

“Alright, fine,” she concedes. “Take a shower, then we bring her to the nearest hospital and get out of there, fast.”

“Alright,” he agrees, nodding. He flashes a smile at the baby, shifting her in his arms a bit, and Jemma just watches, in awe, because she’s never been good with babies, or a fan to begin with, but it’s a good look on him. It makes her stomach twist pleasantly and a smile twist her lips.

Said smile quickly drops when he moves closer, trying to pass the baby over to her.

“No, what are you doing?” she immediately protests, taking a step back and looking at him like he’s completely out of his mind. And his behaviour today is only the last on a long list of reasons why she could accuse him of being insane, actually.

He raises his eyebrows. “We don’t have a crib, baby,” he points out, matter-of-factly.

Jemma casts an helpless glance around, as if hoping that something akin to a crib could suddenly manifest to come to her aid. No such luck, obviously.

“Right,” she mumbles, defeated.

Grant flashes her a pleased smile, because _he_ is good with kids, the bastard, he doesn’t understand the sheer _terror_ of not even knowing how to _hold_ one—

“Alright, keep the head up,” he instructs, placing the baby in her arms and guiding her so that she doesn’t drop it. Jemma’s knees are Jell-O as soon as she notices how _small_ the baby is compared to her. She’s never done this, she has read about how to hold a new-born, once, when her cousin had one and she visited and she expected to be offered to hold him, but it was so long ago, she can barely _remember_ —

“Don’t sweat it, you’re doing good,” Grant grins, because he’s obviously enjoying this. “Just— sit down, keep it up until I’m done.”

At least he takes quick showers, he shouldn’t be long.

“What if she starts crying?” she asks, a note of panic in her voice. She isn’t sure if she should be looking at the baby or not: on one hand, watching her only increases her terror, on the other _not_ watching her makes her feel like she isn’t even monitoring the situation, which takes away what little bit of control she has over it.

Grant shrugs. “Rock her to sleep. Sing a lullaby.”

Jemma glares at him: he knows perfectly well that she _can’t_ sing.

He flashes another grin her way, the bastard. “Don’t worry, she’s been an angel throughout the whole ride. You’ll be fine,” he assures. He tips his finger on the baby’s nose as a goodbye and places a quick kiss on Jemma’s forehead, then he spares a moment to give them both a look before going off to take his bloody shower already.

“You look adorable,” he announces, disappearing before she has the chance to say anything.

Alright, then.

She knows that when you stare at someone while they sleep, they’ll likely feel it and wake up, so, not knowing if it applies to infants too or not, in the end she elects that it’s better for everybody if she just stares intently at the wall in front of her, trying to forget that she has a very tiny human in her arms until Grant comes back.

Obviously, the baby has no intention of allowing this to go smoothly: it’s barely a few minutes in when she starts crying.

Her first reaction is panic.

The second is mild internal swearing, as she looks at the baby’s red face.

Then her brain starts working again, she sends a glance in the direction of the bathroom, half-hoping that Grant might have heard and decided to offer some help – fat chance, he isn’t going to delay his shower just to avoid her the nuisance of soothing a crying baby, even if said baby is in their house only because _he_ brought it in –, and she resumes to standing up, trying not to drop the poor thing on the ground, and walk around, bouncing a little on her feet in the hopes that the baby will calm down, eventually.

“Come on, come on, there’s no need to cry—” she tries, doing her best to keep her tone soothing.

Actually, she has ample reason to cry: her parents are dead, she is in very incompetent hands, and if she were by any chance hungry Jemma wouldn’t have anything to offer.

There’s probably some milk in the fridge, but don’t babies need special milk? Or did she just make that up?

“Come on, it’s alright,” she says, smiling down at the baby, who stares intently for a few seconds, seemingly ready to cry and yell some more. Jemma takes the temporary silence as a good sign, so she keeps smiling and rocks her a little more. “Everything’s alright, darling.”

A few more moments of intent staring, then she’s rewarded with a smile.

Jemma thinks that something in her melted a little at that. A wave of affection rushes through her, and her smile widens.

“Yes, that’s right, everything is okay,” she says, gently, and the baby keeps smiling as Jemma gives in to the temptation of bumping her nose against hers. It’s a sign of affection, right? People do that.

The baby doesn’t resume to crying, and Jemma’s shoulders finally release some tension.

 

By the time Grant is done with his shower, Jemma feels like she has gotten a better handle on this, and she’s almost reluctant to let the baby go.

Grant, annoyingly observant as per usual, seems to notice, and he quirks his eyebrows at her, moving as if to withdraw his silent offer to take the baby.

“I have blood all over me,” Jemma says, as a sort of excuse that she shouldn’t even be giving, as she passes her over to Grant. “I’ll get changed, then we can— we should bring her to that hospital,” she adds, quickly turning her back on both of them as she moves to grab a clean shirt.

“Alright,” Grant says, and in his voice there’s a weird inflection that she doesn’t care to examine.

She realizes a moment too late that she is putting on one of _his_ shirts, which she usually does when she’s in need of some comfort. Well, it’s a coincidence, it was merely the first thing that she could grab. He shouldn’t be reading into it.

“We should get her some clean clothes,” she points out, impulsively, after turning back towards them. “There’s blood on those,” she adds, quickly. “They will ask questions.”

Grant makes a non-committal noise, his eyes falling on the baby. Jemma’s breath catches in her throat when he smiles down at her.

“You know she’s probably gonna end up in a orphanage,” he points out, his tone casual, as he looks back up. “Or in foster care.”

Yes, she knows. Of course she knows.

“Maybe she’ll be lucky enough to be adopted by a family,” she points out, her smile a little forced. She thinks back to Skye, although the loss of her friendship still stings, and of the fuss she would be putting up if she knew that they are about to condemn an innocent kid to the kind of life she had.

“ _Or_ we could make sure of it,” Grant points out, shrugging. “By keeping her. With us.”

Jemma knew it was coming, yet somehow it seems to take her by surprise. It takes her a moment to gather the willpower to answer, because her first reaction is freezing. “We are two ex-spies on the run,” she replies. There are a million of reasons why that’s a _bad_ idea.

He offers another shrug. “We could go somewhere else. Get new documents, start anew.” He pauses, a little grin twisting the corner of his lips. “Coulson is a softie, he probably wouldn’t even arrest us anymore if he saw us play house with a little kid.”

Jemma swallows.

There was a time when she really thought that she’d be a mother, someday. It wasn’t necessarily something that she _craved_ , but it was a certainty: she pictured her future, and there was science, research, but also a family. She had a kid that adored her just as much as she adores her parents.

Then she became part of SHIELD, she was soon introduced to Hydra, and her life took a new whole direction. What decent person would subject a child to any of that, right?

She didn’t necessarily mourn the loss of that future she pictured, the sadness only hit at times, when she saw mothers and kids passing down the streets or she heard a fellow agent talking about their children back at home.

But now they are out, technically. If Grant stops blowing up Hydra bases for the hell of it—

You can never really _be_ out, the most rational part of her brain supplies, but—but she _wants_ this.

“I think it’s a bad idea,” she points out, pressing her lips together in a thin line.

“Probably not the worst I’ve ever had,” he offers, lightly. “I mean, look at how cute she is,” he adds, bouncing on his feet a little and holding the baby up for emphasis. “How can you give her away, look at this face! Actually, I think she looks a little like you, it’s destiny.”

That’s bullshit, if you ask Jemma, because that baby looks— well, like a _baby_ , she probably bears more resemblances to a potato than to her, but his silliness makes her crack a smile anyway.

“You never mentioned wanting kids,” she points out, trying not to make it sound accusatory.

He shrugs. “We were spies,” he reminds her. “Not much room for that kind stuff. But, Jem— we’ve been wanting to start anew for a while now. Why not?”

“Because we are completely unprepared for it, for starters.”

“We can hop in the car and shop for baby supplies?”

Two ex-spies on the run, with a baby in toe, shopping for baby supplies. That sounds ridiculous.

It also makes her heart explode with joy.

“I assume you know a guy who can get us out of the country,” she sighs, faking resignation.

He beams, completely failing at – or perhaps not caring about – masking it.

“I always do,” he says then, smugly.

He moves closer to wrap her into a hug, carefully moving the baby so that he can hold her up with only one arm, and Jemma accepts the invitation, pressing her cheek against his shoulder as he rests his chin on her head and she stares at the new addition to their family, a small smile twisting her lips before she fully realizes it.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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